


Thank Your Lucky Star(k)s

by JS3639



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Artist Steve Rogers, Artist!Steve, Fluff, I'm not 100 percent sure on how old Peter is but he's younger than 8, Kid Peter Parker, M/M, Peter Parker is Steve's biological son, Peter is NOT Spider Man, Steve is Poor, Superfamily, Superfamily (Marvel), Tony Stark Is a Good Bro, Tony Stark is Good With Kids, Tony is rich, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-04
Updated: 2019-09-04
Packaged: 2020-04-07 19:14:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19091356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JS3639/pseuds/JS3639
Summary: This is an AU where Steve is poor and struggles to raise his son Peter. Luckily for him, he meets someone that'll help him get by.---PLEASE READ TAGS





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is an AU where Steve is poor. I have no experience with being poor or struggling with money, all the information I get if from DuckDuckGo and Google. Sorry if I get anything wrong.  
> \---  
> Come hang out with me on [Tumblr](https://js3639.tumblr.com/) | [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/js3639_/) | [Twitter](https://twitter.com/js3639_) | [YouTube](https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCHbtBh7XPlkKl_xisH-ic4g) \- to also send me prompts | Email me: thejs3639@gmail.com

“C’ mon, Bubba, you have to go to school.” Steve shook the lump under the comforter that was his son awake. He felt movement, then saw a messy array of brown hair expose from under the blanket.

 

“I don’ wanna go. I wan’ stay wif you, Papa,” the six-year-old said, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “I know, Bubba but I have to work and you have to go to school. C’mon, bud. Brush your teeth and we can go get you a muffin for breakfast.”

 

“Is it my birfday?” the kid asked in confusion. He only got muffins on special days. 

 

“No, but I have a little bit of money and I wanna spend it on you.”

 

That was enough motivation to get Peter to literally jump out of bed, get dressed, brush his teeth and hair, and pull his socks and shoes on.

 

Steve grabbed a faded blue, paint-stained Herschel bag for Peter, tossing a paper bag with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich in it, into the backpack. Peter was bouncing up and down, waiting for Steve to finish tying his shoes.

 

Steve grabbed his backpack, making sure all his art supplies were inside it; Watercolors, brushes, colored pencils which were just almost-too-small-to-use stubs, the one mechanical pencil he had and some refill lead that he had bought from CVS. 

 

He turned around to pull the door closed and lock it just as the landlord, Mr. Harrington came down the stairs from his apartment. “Mr. Rogers,” he said, causing Steve’s heart to jump. His voice was stern but friendly.

 

“Where’s your rent?” Steve felt his heart sink and Peter wrap himself around his leg, like a koala to a tree. “I  _ promise _ you that I’ll have the money to you by the twenty-eighth. I get my paycheck on the twenty-sixth. I promise, Mr. Harrington.”

 

“This is getting to be a bit of an act, isn’t it? Your rent has been overdue a week and a half now. I need that paycheck or I’m going to have to ask you and Peter to leave. I’m sorry, Steve.”

 

Steve looked down at Peter who was hiding behind his legs, tears in his eyes. Mr. Harrington looked at Peter and softened at the boy’s watery eyes. Brown met brown and he opened his mouth to speak. 

 

“I’ll give you a week.  _ One _ week, Rogers. If you can’t pay me by them, you and Peter are outta here.”

 

Steve gently nodded his head and clasped his hands together as if he were praying. “Thank you, sir.”

 

* * *

 

The pair walked to the cafe. Steve didn’t want to drive, it’s not that he couldn’t drive, it’s that they didn’t have much money and they had to spend it sparingly. It was a fifteen-minute walk and the whole way, Peter was arguing with himself over what type of muffin he was going to get. 

 

“Papa, should I get choc’late, pumpkin, or blueberry?”

 

Steve secretly rolled his eyes. He knew that whatever he said, Peter would just shoot down and choose a different flavor muffin. “I dunno, Petey. Why don’t we see what they have and then chose, kay?”

 

That seemed logical to Peter and he shut his mouth and continued skipping down the sidewalk. Steve straightened his shirt before entering the cafe and picked Peter up in his arms.

 

“Okay, Bubba, which one do you want,” Steve asked Peter, as they looked in the glass case at the array of muffins and pastries before them.

 

Peter jabbed his finger at the glass, pointing to the blueberry muffin. “One blueberry muffin and will that be all, sir?” the young woman behind the counter asked, placing the muffin in a plain white paper bag. She walked over to an iPad that had a card reader coming out of the headphone jack.

 

Steve hesitated when he saw it. His debit card didn’t have much money on it; only a few hundred dollars. It was used for emergencies only but he had promised his son a muffin and Peter would go nuts if he didn’t get his muffin after Steve planted the seed of an idea in his son’s head.

Steve nodded and handed his Bank of America card over to the woman, Emily, her nametag read. “Thank you, Papa,” he said, making grabby hands toward the white paper bag. He snatched it up and peeked inside, happy to see the muffin.

 

Looking up at Steve, he asked, “What about you, Papa?” Steve was hungry; hungrier than normal. He and Peter didn’t get to eat that much, usually frozen pizza, or quesadllas or something simple and cheap. 

  
“It’s okay, Bubba, I’ll eat at work,” he half-lied, looking into his son’s brown eyes. Brown met ocean blue and both pairs softened. It was true: Steve would eat at work. He would help out at the grocey store across from Peter’s school. He would stock the shelves and help bag groceries.

 

When no one was looking, he’d sneak a sandwitch from the deli. The deli worker, Frank, knew that Steve had little money and would often leave two foot long subs out for him and Peter.

 

Steve dropped Peter to his feet and followed him to a circular table by the window. Steve took out his notebook and a pencil and started drawing Peter. A man, who was wearing a black suit blazer and a shirt that gradiented from black at the neck to whiteish grey at the bottom and a pair of black pants. 

 

He was walking backwards and talking to a woman in an almost skin-tight navy blue dress with red hair. He bumped into Steve’s arm that was holding the sketchbook, causing a light pencil line to strike through the drawing.

 

“I am so, so sorry,” the woman with the red hair said. She was holding a space gray MacBook Pro and a folder with important looking documents. The man paused and looked at Steve erasing the pencil line he caused him to draw by mistake.

  
“Pardon me,” the man said, itching his goatee and staring at the spot on Steve’s arm where he bumped into him. “Hey, that’s pretty good. How much you charge for them?”    
  


“Oh, no, see I don’t-” Steve started. He was going to say that he didn’t sell his art because he didn’t have enough art supplies to take comissions but the brown-haired man cut him off.

 

“Pep, you see this? Look how good it is!” he marveled at the drawing. “Seriously, Blondie. I’ll buy that from you. How much you want for it?”

 

“Um,” Steve shifted uncomfortably in his seat; he didn’t like to ask for people’s money. 

 

“How about thirty-five?”

 

Steve looked up at the man in bewilderment.  _ Thirty-five _ ? It was only a quick pencil drawing that took him ten minutes, not even that long. 

 

“Tony, you have a-” the redhead, Pepper was her name? started to say but was cut off.    
  
“Here, you go,” Tony said, hand extended with the cash in his hand.

 

All of a sudden everything clicked in Steve’s brain. Tony Stark,  _ The _ Tony Stark was standing in front of him. That’s why he was able to buy a nothing drawing for so much.

  
  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony finds Steve and Peter's apartment and gives Steve a gift.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This sucks but hang in there, it'll get better.  
> \---  
> Sorry this is so short, I wanted it to be longer but I couldn't think of anything more to write.  
> \---
> 
> This is for [Marie72](https://archiveofourown.org/users/marie72/pseuds/marie72). Shoutout to them for the awesome idea for this chapter!
> 
> \---  
> HANG OUT WITH ME AND SEND ME PROMPTS:: [Tumblr](https://js3639.tumblr.com/) | [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/js3639_/) | [Twitter](https://twitter.com/js3639_) | EMAIL ME: thejs3639@gmail.com

“Excuse me, Sir, can you tell me where chili powder is?” A blonde-haired woman stopped at Steve, casting her shadow over him.

 

Steve looked up at the woman and placed the last can of Campbell’s tomato soup on the shelf. He stood up and grabbed the box that had contained the soup cans and collapsed it in his hands.    
  
“It’s on aisle seven. If it’s not there, check aisle five, and if it’s still not there, I can look for some in the back.”

 

The woman smiled and gave a quick nod, then walked past him and turned toward the aisle. Steve looked down at his watch, the second hand slowly ticking by. 

 

Twelve eleven. Time for lunch.

 

Steve walked to the deli counter and grabbed the two footlongs that were wrapped in butcher paper and masking-taped closed. He threw the smaller of the two into his bag - ham and swiss for Peter on white - and unwrapped his - romaine lettuce, avocado, tomato, bacon, and cheddar - and took a few bites of sandwich.

 

Steve looked down at his Timex watch, the plastic screen cracked and scratched. 2:50. Ten minutes until Peter got out of school. Steve wrapped the second half of his sandwich back up, chucking it in his backpack and then went to the back of the store to put his uniform away. He untied his apron and took his visor off, hanging them on a peg in his locker. 

 

He clocked out and walked across the street where Peter was waiting with another boy. Steve had only seen this kid a few other times, never once had he heard his speak but according to Peter, his name was Harley and somehow he was affiliated with that Tony Stark guy they’d met this morning.

 

“Papa!” Peter burst out in a sprint towards Steve. Steve bent down, his arms wide open and scooped Peter up. “Bye Harley!” Peter said, waving to the dirty blond boy. “Bye Pete,” he replied in a soft voice. 

 

“How was your day, Bubba?” Steve asked Peter as they held hands and walked down the street. “It was good! I got to color an’ Ms. Emily gave me a new notebook an’ some crayons so I can be like you an’ draw!” 

 

He pulled a purple marbled composition notebook out of his bag along with a box of crayons. He held them proudly out so Steve could see and then carefully put them back in his backpack. They got to the park - an after-school tradition since day one of school - and picked a mesh picnic table to sit and eat. 

 

Steve watched as Peter ate the first half of his sandwich, not hungry for the second. “Can I go play now, Papa?” he asked Steve, jitters surging through him. 

 

“Yeah, bud, go play.”

 

Steve carefully took out his sketchbook and watercolors, looking for a non-child object to paint. He settled on the pigeons in front of him, lazily pecking at the ground. 

 

He took out a Planters peanut can full of water and unscrewed the lid, dipping his brush into it and began painting.

 

* * *

 

There was a knock at the door causing Steve to look up from the book he was reading. “Hey stranger,” a familiar voice said on the other side of their apartment door. Steve undid the bolt, leaving the sliding chain locked and peered out to see Tony out in the hallway. 

 

“How’d you find us?”

 

“I’m Tony freaking Stark. My people can find literally anyone,” he simply put. He handed a plastic bag over to Steve as he walked into their small apartment. Art supplies and Lego blocks littered every surface. 

 

“Seriously,” he looked blankly at Steve, trying to think if the blond ever said his name.   
  


“Rogers. Steve Rogers,” He said, jumping out of the daze he was in and shaking Tony’s hand. Peter had come out of their room, hair a tangled mess. He rubbed his eyes, his blurry vision focusing on Tony. 

 

“Tony, you really didn’t have to do this,” Steve said, peering into the bag. Inside the bag was a new sketchbook - a Moleskine - some new brushes, food, actual food that wasn’t frozen.

 

“Nonsense, I saw you purchase that muffin for him,” Tony gestured towards Peter. “I know damn well that you would’ve bought yourself one too if you could afford it.”

 

Tony was right: if Steve had extra money, he would’ve bought himself some food too. Six out of ten times, Steve found himself giving food up for Peter. Sometimes, he wouldn’t eat his sandwich and instead, he’d give his to Peter because he knew the boy needed it more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HANG OUT WITH ME AND SEND ME PROMPTS:: [Tumblr](https://js3639.tumblr.com/) | [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/js3639_/) | [Twitter](https://twitter.com/js3639_) | EMAIL ME: thejs3639@gmail.com


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come hang out with me on [Tumblr](https://js3639.tumblr.com/) | [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/js3639_/) | [Twitter](https://twitter.com/js3639_) | [YouTube](https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCHbtBh7XPlkKl_xisH-ic4g) \- to also send me prompts | Email me: thejs3639@gmail.com

“Whatcha drawing there, baby?” Steve asked his son, looking up from his own drawing and glancing at the puddle of crayon splotches on the lined paper.

 

“I’m drawin’ an adventure! I’s got you, me and Daddy!”

 

Steve froze. Peter hadn’t mentioned his Dad in a while. 

 

Of course, Peter was too young to realize that Brock had physically abused Steve and that’s why they left. Brock and Peter had a good relationship. Steve was almost jealous of their relationship. Almost. 

 

Brock Rumlow and Steve had been married for five years. He was a rich man, almost Tony Stark rich. He had his own company, engineering tech for NASA, constantly donating money and materials to them. 

 

“I- Tha- That’s great, Petey,” Steve said, his voice soft and quiet. Peter could tell something was wrong with his Papa. Normally, he’d be more enthusiastic about his drawings and creativeness. But at the mention of his Dad, the blond had shied away. 

  
  


“Petey, come eat, bubba,” Steve called to his son. He heard the pitter-patter of feet down the hall, growing louder and louder. 

 

“Why da special meal?” Peter said eyeing the plate. On it was a hamburger, freshly made, the not frozen, individually-wrapped kind. 

 

Steve didn’t answer his son but instead distracted him with a box of Juicy Juice. Peter graciously accepted it, stabbing the straw into the foil-covered hole and taking a long sip from it.

 

* * *

 

Steve was in the kitchen making lunch for Peter when his phone vibrated against the cheap wooden kitchen island, projecting the echo of the vibrations. He put his thumb in the crack of the two halves, looking at the display screen showing the contact information. 

 

Using his thumb, he flipped it open and held it in between his shoulder and ear. 

 

“Hello?” 

 

He continued to slather peanut butter against the slices of bread. 

 

_ “Hi, this is Ms. Jean, I’m calling to ask about Peter- is everything all right at home?” _

 

In Steve’s other ear, the cheap, grainy television blared, some kids show for Peter no doubt. Steve pulled his flip phone away from his ear. 

 

“Hey, buddy, turn that down for just a sec!”

 

The volume reduced and Steve put the phone back up to his ear.

 

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” Steve half-lied. Financially, they were struggling. Really, truly struggling.

 

_ “Are you sure? The past couple of days, I noticed that he didn’t have much of a lunch and some kids were teasing him about it saying that he’s-” _

 

Steve let Ms. Jean, drag on and on about Peter this and Peter that, his eyes slowly welling up with tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come hang out with me on [Tumblr](https://js3639.tumblr.com/) | [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/js3639_/) | [Twitter](https://twitter.com/js3639_) | [YouTube](https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCHbtBh7XPlkKl_xisH-ic4g) \- to also send me prompts | Email me: thejs3639@gmail.com

**Author's Note:**

> Come hang out with me on [Tumblr](https://js3639.tumblr.com/) | [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/js3639_/) | [Twitter](https://twitter.com/js3639_) | [YouTube](https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCHbtBh7XPlkKl_xisH-ic4g) \- to also send me prompts | Email me: thejs3639@gmail.com


End file.
